Caught and Bowled
by Halcris
Summary: Some nasty villains quickly dealt with.


**Caught and Bowled**.

As happened so often, Bodie and Doyle reported to Cowley's office early in the morning, to find him already at his desk, studying the daily police report.

"Anything in that for us, sir ?," asked Bodie.

"I don't think so," replied his boss. "It's mainly police business."

Then one item caught his eye. "A rather odd raid on an army camp munitions store," he said in a puzzled tone.

"Odd in what way, sir ?," queried Doyle.

"In what was taken," replied Cowley, "A small number of hand guns, plus ammunition, and a dozen boxes of hand grenades."

"That is odd," commented Doyle thoughtfully.

"A lot of 'big bangs'," added Bodie, almost gleefully.

"Youngsters, out for a bit of a lark, do you think ?," asked Doyle.

"No," replied Cowley, "That might be an obvious first guess, but they were seen, albeit from some distance away, and it wasn't youngsters. It was well and deliberately planned, by men in ski-masks."

"So they were intentionally after grenades," mused Doyle. "I wonder what they have planned to do with them ?."

It was a question that wasn't answered immediately. But it remained in the back of all three minds as they got on with their own important work.

One afternoon Doyle had occasion to go out to the suburbs, to talk to his favourite informant, Fred. He was going to ask him to do a little surveillance job for C.I.5. They had used him before, as he was very good at this, being very observant. Crippled as the result of a severe motor-cycle accident, he limped badly, which although it was a trying handicap to him, was inclined to cause criminals to disregard him as a 'watcher'

As it was school holiday time, Fred was at home, entertaining his two young nephews. They greeted Doyle enthusiastically, as they had met him before, knew who he was, and what he did, and regarded him as a sort of hero.

Fred let them talk for a few moments, as they were making Doyle smile. Then knowing that Doyle wanted to talk business, he sent them off to the local shop to buy ice-creams.

Doyle quickly explained to Fred what C.I 5 would like him to do, and made all the necessary arrangements.

When the boys came back, they all went out to sit in Fred's pleasant garden, and enjoyed their ice-creams.

The boys were giving most of their attention to a new nature-study book Fred had found for them, so their uncle was able to talk to Doyle, bringing him up to date on local gossip, with little snippets of information which Doyle often found extremely useful.

At last he reluctantly stood up to go. "This has been very pleasant, Fred," he said, "But I still have work to do."

"Yes, I know," said Fred, rising awkwardly to see him out, as Doyle said good-bye to the boys.

As they walked slowly back through the house, Fred suddenly remembered something else. "Oh," he said, "I nearly forgot. I don't suppose you've heard yet, but Kitelli's place has been broken into again."

Kitelli was a merchant, trading in expensive fur coats, and had a warehouse not far away. He was an unpleasant, mean man, and a very stingy employer, so nobody had much sympathy when they heard. They knew he was probably well insured, being more likely to spend money on that than on decent wages for his staff. So both men were smiling at the thought.

"It'll be on Cowley's police report, I expect," said Doyle. "Was it like last time, breaking into the roof skylight ? He was advised to make that more secure, but he's too mean to spend the money."

"No, actually it wasn't," replied Fred, "Apparently they blew open the back doors. It raised the alarm, of course, but they were in and away with several dress rails of furs, before anyone could get there."

"Sounds well planned," Doyle commented.

He thought no more about it as he drove back to base. Theft was police business after all. He was mentally planning his report on the enquiries he'd been making all morning.

But late that evening, as he got ready for bed, it came back to him, and a sudden thought entered his head.

So next morning, when he and Bodie reported to Cowley's office, he ventured to voice the thought "I suppose the Kitelli burglary is in the police report, sir ?," he enquired.

"Yes," replied Cowley, looking up in some surprise from the report he was reading. "It's here - quite a substantial haul of fur coats taken."

Knowing Doyle's quick mind, he followed it up. "What's your interest, Doyle ?," he demanded. "It's police work, not ours."

"Yes, sir," agreed Doyle, "But it was the method used. They blew open the back doors."

"So ?," demanded Bodie, feeling left out of this conversation.

"So I wondered if it might be one of your 'big bangs'," suggested Doyle.

"The grenades !," exclaimed Cowley and Bodie, almost in unison, as they considered the idea.

"Now there's a thought," said Bodie.

"Indeed," agreed Cowley, thinking quickly. "Leave it with me. I'll make a few enquiries."

For the moment the idea was pure speculation.

But a few days later, when the pair reported in to Cowley's office, he met them with some news.

"Doyle," he said briskly, "It looks as if your idea might have some merit. There was a raid yesterday evening on a depot storing electrical goods. They made off with a load of small items, radios, cassette players etc. Articles all easily portable and quickly re-saleable too. Method similar to that at the fur store. Back doors opened with explosive. But this time it took a more serious turn. A police car on patrol happened to be quite close, and raced to the scene. But a grenade was thrown at them. Resulting in one wrecked police car, and two injured policemen. It's still police business at the moment, but you two get out there and talk to your informants. See if any of them have any ideas about this."

A couple of days later, something happened to up-date the situation.

Bodie and Doyle had been working together on some particular enquiries, and were just walking back to their car across a bit of waste ground where some old flats had been demolished. They were discussing, in some disgust, the meagre results their combined efforts had achieved.

Suddenly, from somewhere ahead of them, came the sound of an explosion !

Together they broke into a run and dashed forward. They rounded the corner of a building, to see a cloud of smoke drifting from some wide-open doors. A large grey van was standing there, and several men in overalls and ski-masks were rapidly loading cartons of cigarettes.

But one of the men had seen them, and took immediate action !

"Grenade !," yelled Bodie, as a dark object hurtled towards them. Both took the appropriate action their training had taught them, dropping to either side and rolling away from the blast.

Bodie was up first, and moved forward, only to retreat as another grenade sailed through the air. Doyle hadn't quite got to his feet, and was blown over again by this second blast, rolling sideways away from it.

But seconds later, both were up and ready, peering cautiously round the corner of the building, only to see the grey van disappearing in a cloud of dust.

Disgusted that they were on foot, and so couldn't give chase, Bodie turned to his partner, who was looking at something in his hand.

"Hey, your hand's bleeding," he exclaimed.

"Caught it on that bit of old wall," replied Doyle. "Just a graze, but look what I found."

"What is that ?," said Bodie.

What Doyle was showing his mate, was an old cigarette-case, very black and tarnished. Doyle rubbed one corner of it hard and seemed pleased. "Could be silver," he said. "I'll clean it up later." He slipped into the breast pocket of his jacket, as he fished for a handkerchief to wrap round his bleeding knuckles. Both men moved forward to investigate further.

"Did you get any of the number-plate ?," asked Doyle.

"No chance," replied Bodie, "It was painted out."

As they moved towards the open doors, a police car came round the corner and pulled to a halt. The two policemen who jumped out looked suspiciously at the two men facing them, so they quickly pulled out their I.D.s and explained how they had just happened to be on the scene. They gave the policeman a quick up-date on all they had seen. Then they left to pick up their car.

"Did you see that man's action ?," said Bodie. "Super over-arm throws. Might have been a cricketer."

"Or a baseball pitcher, or a javelin thrower," argued Doyle.

"So," admitted Bodie, "lots of people are good at throwing."

"Or he might just be ex-army, like you," said Doyle, getting in the last word as they reached the car.

They climbed in and returned to base, to tell it all to Cowley.

"So it really looks as if we've got a 'grenade gang' on the loose," said Bodie finally. "Are we making it our business now, sir ?."

"We may have to," replied Cowley.

"They have to have a base somewhere," mused Doyle. "Somewhere to store their haul till they can sell it on."

"And somewhere to keep those boxes of grenades," added Bodie.

"Agreed," said Cowley, "So I suggest you get out there and ask some questions along those lines."

The pair did so, but with very little immediate success. No-one seemed to know much about these villains yet.

Due to Fred's observational skills, C.I.5 had managed to identify and pick up a man they had been after for quite a while.

So one afternoon Doyle went along to Fred's home to thank him. As he was off-duty, he was free to sit with Fred in his pleasant garden, enjoying a leisurely cup of tea.

He told him what had been going on, and how it seemed as if the attack on Kitelli's fur store had been the start of a series of daring raids by the group.

"Bodie's christened them the 'Grenade Gang'," said Doyle with a smile. "But they are no joke, really."

"No, they are not," agreed Fred, "Grenades are nasty. Someone could get killed."

Doyle left a little later, after Fred had promised he would keep his eyes and ears open, and let him know at once if he heard anything.

It soon became evident that they now had a bold and resourceful gang on their hands.

Raids continued all over the London area, in a random fashion, and at all hours of the day. A designer clothes depot was hit late at night, a small electrical goods place early in the morning, and cigarette stores in broad daylight.

The only consistent feature of the attacks was that doors were blown open by grenades, and the raiders were in and out and away very rapidly, while alarms were still blaring. A couple of places tried putting in night- watchmen, but it made no difference. The men were stalked and skilfully over-powered, and the raid went on.

As enquiries were now being made as to possible hide-outs, rumours began to come in of activity in usually deserted places, and these were all checked assiduously. Several were found to be only youngsters, currently on school holidays, just larking about. More were found to be 'squatters', or 'dossers' seeking shelter from a wet night in the open.

Bodie and Doyle investigated one report themselves. It concerned an old communal hall which had been abandoned for over a year now. The land had been bought by developers who were planning to build new flats on the site. The activities that had gone on in the hall, the playgroup, local committee meetings and coffee mornings, were now flourishing in a brand new civic centre some hundred yards further up the road. But the old building had not been demolished yet. And there had been reports of lights having been seen there late at night..

So late one evening, Bodie and Doyle parked their car nearby, and quietly approached the building. They also saw lights from torches inside, so there was someone there who shouldn't be. They moved round the side of the hall, and found a small side door that wasn't locked as it ought to have been. Guns in hand, they eased the door open and moved cautiously in. Bodie was carrying a powerful torch, but he kept it pointing to the ground as they crept forward. They didn't want to alert the intruders too quickly.

They moved along the passage and entered the large main room. They saw torch lights at the far side of the room where there was a mini stage and heard whispering voices.

But it was clear this wasn't the gang they were looking for, as Bodie swept the beam of his torch upwards, to reveal the frightened faces of two teenage boys. They would have been even more scared if they had seen the quickly holstered guns. Bodie and Doyle stepped forward to confront the boys.

"What are you doing here ?," demanded Bodie.

"We weren't doing any harm," said one of the boys. "We were just looking."

"Looking for what.?," asked Doyle, adopting a less intimidating manner. That seemed to ease the boys' initial panic, for the other one answered readily.

"We came to see if the place was suitable to hold a 'rave'," he confessed. "It's hard to find new places.

"How did you get in,?" asked Bodie.

"We had a bunch of old keys, and one of them fitted that side door," the boy explained.

"Well," said Doyle, "I'll tell you now, this place won't do for what you plan. This old building is riddled with dry rot. If you had a lot of people in here dancing, the floor would give way, and you'd all end up in the cellar."

"Much too dangerous," agreed Bodie. "It'll be knocked down soon."

They escorted the boys off the premises, and sent them on their way, after re-locking the door and confiscating the keys.

"Well that was a waste of time," commented Bodie, as they walked back to their car.

"Oh, I don't know," replied Doyle. "It was different and interesting."

The break-through came eventually from an unexpected source

During the school holidays, Ken and Roger Feldman went regularly to their Uncle Fred's, for their widowed mother worked during the week at a busy estate agents office. As the boys were now 13 and 15 respectively, their over-protective mother had reluctantly agreed to let them go there on the bus, saving her a long detour before she drove to work. It was quite a long journey, but the boys enjoyed it, and spent the time looking out for anything interesting to tell their uncle when they got to his place.

Ken, the younger one, was interested in number-plates, and was training himself to read them quickly, as Doyle, who he admired, had once said that it was a skill that C.I.5 agents tried to cultivate. So when he saw something that intrigued him, he stored it up in his memory to ask his uncle about it later.

But when they got to Uncle Fred's house, he forgot it temporarily in the excitement of choosing a board game to play. When it was too wet to go out in the garden, their uncle had a variety of board games for them to play indoors.

So it wasn't till half-way through the morning, when they had a break for lemonade and biscuits, that he suddenly remembered.

"Uncle Fred," he said, "Isn't it illegal for a vehicle to have an obscured number-plate ?."

"Certainly it is," replied Fred instantly. "They all have to have a plate back and front that can be easily read. It is the law."

"Yes, I thought so," said Ken.

"Why did you ask ?," queried Fred.

"I saw one this morning," replied Ken. "It looked as if the back-plate was covered in black paint."

"A car ?," asked his uncle.

"No, a big grey van," replied Ken.

Fred's attention was immediately grabbed, as he re-called Doyle's story of their encounter with the 'Grenade Gang'.

"Where was this ?," he demanded.

"Somewhere on our way here," responded Ken. "The bus had stopped for a red light, and I could see down this small side road. There were some high wire gates, just a little way in. A man was just opening them, and the van went through. Then he closed them again and hurried after the van which had disappeared round the corner of a building."

The older boy, Roger, was now interested. "When in the journey was it, Ken ?," he asked. "Near the start or near the end?," he added encouragingly.

Ken's young face was screwed up in concentration. "About 10 minutes before we got off, I think." he said.

"Have you got a street map, uncle ?," asked Roger. "Perhaps we could work out just where it was."

They spread the map out on the table and pored over it.

"There are lights there," said Roger, indicating a junction. "That's about right for time too."

"The bus wasn't right up to the lights," explained Ken. "There were several cars in front."

Fred indicated a point on the map. "That looks about right," he said. "It's not a proper road, just an entrance to what used to be a busy industrial estate." Fred was totally alert now and thinking hard. This could well be the information that C.I.5 needed. The abandoned industrial estate seemed a very likely place for the gang to be hiding out.

"I've got to make a phone call." he said decisively. He did so, using a special number he knew, and asked the operator to contact Doyle for him.

"Got something interesting, Fred ?," asked the man on duty, who knew Fred well and liked him

"Could be," replied Fred. "It's pretty urgent, Bill."

"I'll find him, and get him to call you," replied the man and rang off.

As it was nearly lunch time, Fred got the boys busy helping him put a light meal together, as he waited for the call. They had barely finished lunch and cleared it away, when Ken's sharp ears heard something, - the sound of a car outside, not common as Fred lived in a quiet cul-de-sac. He rushed to look out of the window.

"It's them," he cried excitedly, as he spied two familiar figures walking up the front path. His brother beat him to the door, and opened it. Bodie and Doyle came in, met by two very excited boys.

Doyle greeted his friend warmly. "Bill said you thought it was urgent, Fred," he said. "So we decided to come over."

Fred quickly explained what Ken had seen, and they all studied the map.

"I think it must be the old Foden Industrial Estate," said Fred. "It was a very busy place when it was opened about 10 years ago, but as the occupants progressed and grew, they found the buildings no longer adequate, and one by one, they moved elsewhere. It's totally deserted now, and developers are busy trying to find any of old man Foden's relatives to start negotiations to re-develop it again differently."

"It sounds very promising," said Bodie. "We'll certainly look into it."

"Yes, it does," agreed Doyle. "Ken, I think your sharp eyes may have given us something special. Well done, lad." Ken glowed with pride.

Bodie and Doyle hurried back to base, eager to tell Cowley what they had learned.

As they entered the office, they found their usually implacable boss pacing the floor, in what was for him, a state of suppressed agitation. Before they could say a word, he burst into exited speech.

"That 'Grenade Gang'," he exclaimed. "We've got to stop them ! It was bound to happen sooner or later. There was a raid this morning which left them responsible for one, and probably two deaths !"

Seeing the grim expressions on the faces of the two agents listening to him, he went on. "When they blew the doors at this place, the temporary night-watchman was right behind them. Killed outright ! He was a good man, an ex-sergeant in my old unit. I knew him well and his family. He must have heard the van arrive, and pressed the police alarm, for a police car tried to intercept the van as it left. A grenade was thrown at them, causing them to crash out of control, taking out an early-morning paper-boy on his bike. An 11 year-old lad, badly injured, and not expected to survive. They have got to be stopped and soon !"

As he paused for breath, Bodie and Doyle had the chance to pour out their news, and did so rapidly. Cowley was impressed and reached instantly for a large street map. Together all three studied it, and pin-pointed the possible hiding place of this dangerous gang.

"We could go in right now with a spot raid," suggested Bodie eagerly. "Element of surprise, sir."

Cowley considered that. It wasn't his usual way, which involved checking and careful planning, but he was very incensed by the needless death of a good man he had known, and the likelihood of an innocent young life cut short.

He desperately wanted action, and what's more he wanted to be part of it. So spurred by anger, he let his heart rule his head, and gave in to the urge to take a chance.

"Why not ?," he exclaimed. "Let's see who's available."

As luck would have it, some of his best men were found in the canteen, having just completed a morning's work, and snatching a quick coffee before setting out again. It made Cowley feel as if Providence were on their side. So very soon, two cars with their full complement of armed agents swept out of the yard, and made off at full possible speed towards the outskirts of London.

C.I.5 were going into action !

The two cars pulled neatly into the short entrance road. The padlock on the tall wire gates yielded instantly to a powerful pair of steel-cutters fished from the boot of one of the cars. Eight armed and eager for action men slipped quietly through and moved along the side of the nearby building. They came to the corner of it, and cautiously looked round, as the scene before them was revealed.

Facing them was a large open concrete square, still bearing faint painted lines, marking spaces for customer's cars, and surrounded on three sides by average size factory-type buildings.

There was no sign of life anywhere. They couldn't see the grey van, so they guessed it was probably round the back somewhere. There were open windows in all the buildings, but nothing to indicate which, if any, were occupied.

They spread out in a wide line, and, guns at the ready, began to move slowly forward, keeping a close watch on all three buildings for the first sign that the gang were there.

Then suddenly, there was a fusillade of shots from the building at the far side of the square. The agents scattered left and right to the shelter of the side buildings.

All but one, that is, who dropped to the concrete in the middle of the square and lay still.

"Doyle !," exclaimed Bodie, and moved to dash out to rescue his friend. But Cowley grabbed his arm, and forcibly restrained him. He had to use all his strength to do it.

"Don't be a fool," he snapped. "If you charge out there, you'll be cut to pieces !"

"But Doyle needs help," protested Bodie.

"I know," said Cowley, "But wait till we cause a diversion and draw their fire."

The thought he didn't voice, was the fear that the way 4.5 had dropped, might mean he was beyond help.

He was quickly on the radio-phone to his men sheltering behind the opposite building. "We'll move round the back of these two buildings," he ordered briskly, "And come at them from the sides and the back."

Bodie clutched his arm "Look," he said, "Doyle's hand."

Cowley followed the man's gaze, and saw, as he had just done, that the fingers of Doyle's right hand, down by his side, and out of sight from the main building, were moving to form an O.K. signal.

"Good man," he exclaimed. "He's realised it's too dangerous to make a break for it, so he's 'lying doggo' for a bit, till we make a move."

He repeated his orders, and on either side of the square, his men crept round the back of the two buildings. When they reached the corners, they could now see the sides and back of the main building. The back doors were wide open, and there, parked alongside was the big grey van with its blacked-out number plate.

It confirmed that they had found their quarry, _ the 'Grenade Gang' !

As they tried to move in, they were momentarily repelled by a burst of shots from the second storey windows. The agents swiftly returned these, and were rewarded by a loud yell from one window.

Encouraged, they eased forward again. But then a figure appeared at the open back door, arm raised high as he hurled his deadly missile.

"Grenade," yelled someone, and there was a sudden retreat to shelter, as the small bomb belched smoke and flame.

As the smoke cleared, he appeared again, stepping out to mount another deadly attack.

But this time he failed !

Several shots rang out, hitting the clear target, and the man dropped to the ground. But one shot had caught his up-raised arm, and caused him to drop the object clutched in his hand.

It rolled sluggishly across the concrete towards him. Even at some distance, the watching agents could see the terror on his face, as he scrabbled desperately to get away from it. But he was still too close when the grenade did its deadly work, and the result was not pretty.

As the sound of the blast died away, the silence deepened and continued.

Then, at the open back door, appeared a stick with a white handkerchief tied to its top. Demoralised by their leader's death, the rest of the gang surrendered meekly. They were quickly rounded up, disarmed and secured.

As Bodie joined Cowley, walking into the factory, he suddenly found Doyle by his side. He gasped in relief. "Are you all right ?," he demanded, "I thought you were hit."

"I'll explain later," replied Doyle as they hurried after their boss.

Inside the building they found all they had expected to see, _ the stuff stolen by the gang. There were lots of boxes and cartons, plus one rail of fur coats. But more important than that, a room on the ground floor revealed the boxes of grenades, nine of them still unopened.

Cowley immediately contacted base, and put in a call to the army. He wanted those grenades back under lock and key, before any un-skilled hands touched them. It was quickly arranged. A unit would come with all speed, and remove them to the safety of the nearest armoury.

The next call was to the police. C.I.5 had no call to hold the gang. Theft was police business. A squad turned up quite quickly, with a 'black Maria', and escorted the men away. Cowley sent two of his men with them. They were armed, the police were not. But without their leader, the remaining members of the gang were very subdued and gave no trouble. One had a slight shoulder injury, not serious.

A sergeant and two constables remained, to stand guard over the stuff that was stock-piled in the building, until it could be removed as evidence and eventually restored to its rightful owners.

Satisfied with a job well done, Cowley returned to Headquarters with his other three men, leaving Bodie and Doyle to make their way back to their car together.

"What about you ?," demanded Bodie, as they got back into their car. "When you fell, I thought you were hit."

"I was," said Doyle, "But I soon realised I wasn't injured, just badly winded."

He pulled something out of his pocket, and showed it to his partner. It was the old cigarette case he had found. It had remained in his pocket, forgotten about for some while. It was now in a sorry state, badly damaged with a large dent in the middle of it.

"Wow," exclaimed Bodie, "The bullet hit that ?."

"Yes," said his mate, "Knocked all the breath out of me, and I shall have the heck of a bruise, I expect."

"But it saved your life," said Bodie.

"It did indeed," agreed Doyle, "I knew it was a lucky find"

A few days later, Doyle called into Fred to tell him what had happened.

"I'm afraid we can't tell the boys" he said, "Even though they helped us. They would be so excited about it, they wouldn't be able to resist saying something to their school-mates, and we can't allow that."

"Yes, I agree," said Fred. "The less they know, the better. But I'm proud of them."

Doyle showed him the darkening bruise on his chest, and told him about the old cigarette case. "Our expert, Malcolm, had a look at it," he said. "He says it's actually steel, with a silver finish. That's why it is so strong. I've polished it up, and it's standing on my shelf as a memento."

A very special one it is too, thought Fred, marvelling inwardly, as he often did, about how casually these special men dealt with their 'close encounters'.


End file.
